Matthew had been born with it.
Doctors had once called it an extraordinarily rare hereditary feature within her family.
Isabella’s knees weakened.
She slowly sank to the floor in front of Luke.
The boy flinched.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered again.
But Isabella was no longer thinking about the gala, the guests, or her reputation.
She reached toward Luke’s arm with a trembling hand.
“How old are you?”
Luke swallowed.
“Eight.”
A cold wave passed through her.
“What is your full name?”
He looked confused.
“I don’t know. People just call me Luke.”
People.
Not his parents.
Not his family.
Just people.
Isabella’s heart began pounding so violently that she could hear it.
Eight years earlier, she had entered a hospital expecting to bring home two sons.
Only one had returned with her.
